


A touch that kills

by Tovarich



Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [23]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Bittersweet Ending, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Good Omens Celebration 2020, M/M, Touch-Starved, they can't touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tovarich/pseuds/Tovarich
Summary: "Do you want to talk about it?" Crowley asked, although he already knew the answer. It was always the same."No, thank you my dear."Crowley stayed where he was, looking at his hands where they were clenched on his lap. It was hard not to reach out, not to place his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder or to pull him in a tight hug. He wished he could."You want me to stay?" The answer to that question was more uncertain."Please," Aziraphale replied in a murmur, "if you don't mind." He wished Crowley could come closer, wished he could take Crowley's hand or kiss his cheek. He wished he could lay his head on Crowley's shoulder and cry himself to sleep there. He couldn't.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens Celebration 2020 [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727137
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	A touch that kills

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for day 23 of the Good Omens Celebration was "cursed". I hope you enjoy reading this!

Aziraphale was sitting on the couch, in the backroom of his bookshop, when Crowley entered. His shoulders were shaking, racked by silent sobs. It happened sometimes, it had always happened. When they thought they were alone, they let their emotions submerge them. It was easier without the other being there to witness it. If he were asked, Aziraphale couldn't have said why exactly he was crying. There wasn't a precise reason, if there had ever been, he forgot it several centuries ago. No, it was more like a tidal wave of conflicting emotions engulfing him, it was violent but usually brief. All the feelings he had pushed back, thinking he would deal with them later, came to knock on his door, demanding his attention. But Aziraphale wasn't better prepared to deal with them in that moment than he had been when he originally felt them. At least he was alone. Or had been. He heard Crowley's footsteps, saw his shadow from where his head was cradled in his hands, smelt his familiar scent. The demon made tea, put biscuits on a plate, brought it all to the old coffee table. He sat down on the couch, a few centimetres away from Aziraphale. Close enough for comfort, far enough to avoid unintentional touch.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Crowley asked, although he already knew the answer. It was always the same.

"No, thank you my dear."

Crowley stayed where he was, looking at his hands where they were clenched on his lap. It was hard not to reach out, not to place his hand on Aziraphale's shoulder or to pull him in a tight hug. He wished he could.

"You want me to stay?" The answer to that question was more uncertain.

"Please," Aziraphale replied in a murmur, "if you don't mind." He wished Crowley could come closer, wished he could take Crowley's hand or kiss his cheek. He wished he could lay his head on Crowley's shoulder and cry himself to sleep there. He couldn't.

It wasn't long before Aziraphale stopped crying, it was never long when Crowley was there. The familiar tingling of his skin distracted him, took his mind away from whatever dark corner it had wandered to. Aziraphale wasn't sure how he felt about this. The physical sensation itself wasn't very pleasant, it was quite like having tiny needles piercing his skin. However, the demonic presence that was associated with it was very appreciated. It was a small price to pay to have Crowley by his side. He got used to it, with time. They both had. It had been less of an issue back when their meetings were rare and short, it was a bigger problem now that they saw each other every day. Despite the physical discomfort, neither of them was willing to see less of the other.

Aziraphale took his cup of tea and brought it to his lips. He inhaled the warm aroma before taking a sip, humming in pleasure. "For someone who only rarely drinks tea, you make it extremely good," he beamed at the demon still sitting beside him.

Aziraphale's eyes were red and swollen, he looked tired, weary, but his smile was sincere. Crowley knew the angel must have felt better now that he had let it all out, tired but better. It felt like cleaning one's room, getting rid of everything superfluous, sweeping the dirt the accumulated on the floor, cleaning the dust in the corners. By the time one was done, they were sweaty and exhausted, but they felt lighter. Still, Crowley wished he could provide comfort to Aziraphale. He knew the angel liked hugs, casual platonic touch, kisses on the cheeks or on the forehead. All those things Crowley couldn't offer, despite desperately wanting to. It would hurt them, it could destroy them.

"I know how you take your tea, angel," Crowley whispered, grinning. He wasn't happy, that was too strong a word to describe his emotional state, but he was content. That was enough for him, more than he thought he would ever have.

Crowley looked at Aziraphale from the corner of his eye. Once the angel had put his mug down, Crowley turned his head to face him, eyebrow raised in a silent question. Aziraphale nodded, a shy smile spreading on his plump lips. Crowley smiled back reassuringly and slowly leaned in Aziraphale's direction, movements measured and calculated. His shoulder brushed Aziraphale for a second, lightly, barely perceptible through their clothes. And it still made them jump at the burning sensation they both felt. It was like an electric shock, stinging at the point of contact and quickly spreading in pulsing pain through the totality of their body. It wasn't only their corporations, though. It was their souls. They could feel the searing heat burning their very essence. If they touched for too long, they knew with absolute certainty that it would consume them, leave nothing but a pile of occult and ethereal ash on the ground.

Crowley gritted his teeth. He wanted to give more to Aziraphale, wanted to show him how much he was loved in all the ways possible. But he couldn't. They had tried so hard to stay under the radar all those centuries, had fought so hard to avoid the apocalypse, they couldn't be their own demise now. They had to stay strong, even if their angelic and demonic essences were battling against the proximity of what they considered, due to an old instinct, to be the enemy. Because they were natural enemies, everything in the universe wanted them to be apart, killing and hating each other. But their hearts didn't care for that, they didn't care what the universe wanted or what the natural order of things was. They loved each other, always had since the Beginning. They had long accepted that this transgression would come at a price. They were alright with it, it was worth it.

Nothing could ever change the fact that they were supposed to repel each other, but it was alright, they were fine with it. They were like oil and water, incompatible. They could not mix, could not blend, but they could still exist by each other's side. It was painful, it could kill them. In fact, it already did, slowly. Digging holes, deeper and deeper, into their souls, mining them, gradually dissolving their beings with tiny drops of acid. It was killing them, steadily, the rust progressively invading more and more of their ancient souls, leaving blisters and scars on their human skins. They weren't happy, some days they hated each other and themselves and the whole universe. Some days they just felt tired, empty, wishing to be relieved from this extended state of consciousness. Some days, however, they felt bright flashes of happiness. True, unadulterated joy, all-encompassing, overwhelming. Those instants were what kept them going, what pushed them to stay alive, to push through the hard times. They knew, deep inside, that this sort of happiness was only accessible to them if they were together. They enjoyed each other's presence immensely, enjoyed talking and drinking and eating and going to plays and concerts. They enjoyed how easy and natural it felt to exist in each other's world. They wished they could have more, but this had to be enough.

"I love you, angel," Crowley said, voice painfully sincere in his own ears.

Aziraphale smiled, warm and bright, more brilliant than the light of God. Aziraphale was glad, and it made Crowley's heart flutter in his chest.

"I love you too, dearest," Aziraphale replied, barely audible, yet it shook Crowley to the bones.

Crowley didn't need physical touch, he could do without, because his angel had other ways to touch him. ways that made his heart beat faster, his blood get warmer in his veins. It was a touch that was deeper than just the skin, a touch that reached his soul and enveloped it in a warm blanket of love and safety. Crowley hoped he was able to give the same sort of contact to Aziraphale, hoped that those barely-there brushes of their shoulders or their knees through layers of clothes wasn't the only thing he could offer to his angel. Judging by the look of adoration Aziraphale had most of the time when he looked at Crowley, the demon shouldn't worry too much.


End file.
